


Without End In Sight

by sallysorrell



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:21:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8158721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysorrell/pseuds/sallysorrell
Summary: Definitions may change over time, but promises do not.  And that is part of what Data has learned about love.





	

Data was, he repeated to himself, _troubled_.

He wanted a second opinion on the latest draft he’d come up with, but it was not something he could show to Geordi, whose opinion he valued most. 

His finger hovered over his communicator, while he reread the draft in full several times.  Was it worth the captain’s time?  Could Commander Riker remind him of aspects he had missed?  Then, in equal parts, he considered showing it to Doctor Crusher, Counselor Troi, Keiko O’Brien, and even sending it as a communique to Doctor Pulaski if time would allow him.

He drew his hand away, and set it flat on the table as he reached a decision.

This was meant to be shared with Guinan. 

***

When the holodeck was suitably programmed, she agreed to listen. 

Data stood in a hastily-replicated dress uniform, glimpsing down at her from the center of the stage.

“Go on,” she encouraged him, with a flourish of her hand. 

He turned his head and, in adopted human habit, cleared any interfering debris from his vocal chamber.  Something like that.

“It is true,” he began, “that I was quite accustomed to loneliness.  Though it is not something I feel in the way the rest of you do, it was present in my life for many years.  Or, perhaps it is more correct to say, that for these years, you were absent.” 

Guinan watched him fondly, as he took prescribed steps across the stage, settling his arms behind his back and looking down.

“You have made me recognize loneliness, and seek to avoid it.  You have made me understand, fully, the desire for companionship.”

 Guinan help her hand up, until it crossed Data’s line of vision.

“I know that’s meant to be sweet,” she said, “but you might phrase it differently.” 

“Sweet,” said Data, confused until he accessed the word’s contextual meaning, “ah.  I will attempt to do so.”

“Regardless,” Guinan continued, “I know he’ll appreciate the sentiment.  That should get him _just_ flustered enough.”

“Will that not make him uncomfortable?”

Guinan shook her head, and said Geordi would barely notice, or even remember afterward.   

***

She had said something similar to Geordi, who stopped by earlier that evening with the same request.  She did not make them go to the holodeck, though.  They were content to talk to each other across the bar and over ales.

“He’ll remember all of it,” she assured him. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“You really think it’s alright, though?  That he’ll like it?”

She stirred her drink and asked him to repeat the lines he was unsure of.

“I don’t think I even knew myself until I knew you,” he recited.  Then he sighed into his glass and took a sip, “That sounds desperate, doesn’t it?”

“Data won’t think so.”

“Cliche?”

“Let me put it this way,” Guinan said, and Geordi leaned in closer to listen, “I’ve been to many galaxies, lived a lot.  And I can say, with complete confidence, that I have _never_ been to a wedding anything like yours is gonna be.”

***

Guinan was, of course, correct, and without even relying on any information she could’ve gathered from skipping rocks across the tides of future timelines.  This was El-Aurian intuition, steadfast in the utter uniqueness of everyone involved in the celebration.  She loved watching and listening to humans, sure, but she found herself enraptured with the two mechanical men standing in front of her.

Ten-Forward had been rearranged, tables pushed against walls, chairs aligned in two columns to face the temporary stage.  It was decorated, as well, by the more sentimental races in attendance, who provided a tiered cake, glasses of genuine champagne, and a book full of paper pages for guests to sign.

Geordi thought it was all a little ridiculous, while Data, in a practiced whisper, concluded it was meant to be charming, and accepted the gesture as the givers intended it.

The traditional kiss was foregone in favor of the couple’s comfort, and replaced by an extended exchanging of carnation boutonnieres and golden bands.  Captain Picard hardly noticed its absence, and oversaw the recital of vows with fondness only occasionally outweighing his composure.  He found the words caught in his throat just once, when Data and Geordi reached forward, firmly taking each other’s hands and gravitating closer together.

“It has been my honor to watch you serve and grow together,” Picard said at last. “And that honor continues now, as I join together you, Data, and you, Geordi La Forge, in matrimony.”

Geordi smiled at this, fully, while Data copied the expression with the half of his mouth he decided was more practiced and better equipped for the motion.  Geordi giggled at this, and took advantage of Data’s diverted attention, pulling him down so their foreheads met.  He watched the color around Data as it changed, and matched the exact moment to catch him by something close to surprise.  

Then they moved together to a table, pressed their champagne glasses together, and accepted toasts from their fellow officers.

This was a story Guinan would be content to tell for centuries.

***

_“You have made me recognize loneliness, and seek to avoid it.  You have made me understand, fully, the desire for companionship.”_

Data gave measured glances to each tier of the chessboard.

“I find myself unable to speculate upon your next move,” he said to Geordi, who chuckled and curled one finger around a pawn.  The game was essentially a newborn, two turns old.

“Something else on your mind?” he slid the piece forward, and Data watched intently.

“Thirteen things,” Data replied. “Would you like me to list them?”

Geordi shrugged.

“I do not believe they would be of interest to you,” he was slow in executing a defensive maneuver. “The item occupying the majority of my focus, at this time, is the transcript of my latest meeting with Counselor Troi.”

Data rarely felt the need to include human expressions in his talks with Geordi, who was often more comfortable with the technical conventions Data reverted to.  If Data said this to anyone else, he would code it as something acceptable for humans and other onboard lifeforms, with no talk of transcripts or his ability to assign his attention to multiple queries at once.  But Geordi rationalized these and accepted them immediately, endearingly.

“Oh?” led Geordi.

“She seemed surprised by my personal interest in marriage.  It is not strictly a human custom, and no history exists to exclude its practice from androids.  Why would she react this way?”

Geordi muttered something about being ‘unable to divvy up’ his attention, and worked first on a response from his rook, then one for his friend.

“Now I’m not saying it’s gotta be true, but maybe she thinks marriage is something romantic, and she _knows_ that’s not something you’re interested in.”

“That is a reasonable conclusion.”

Geordi tapped the timer beside the gameboard, to pause it, before moving to the out-of-practice replicator near the door of Data’s quarters.  He requested a coffee.

“And people consider _me_ romantic,” Geordi said thoughtfully, “but I prefer to think they’re using the older version of the word.”

Data accessed the oldest dictionary entry available to him, via the ship’s computer.

“The age of romanticism,” Data recited, “characterized by the strong emotional reactions to enlightenment and reason, a preference of intuition to deduction, a--”

“Right,” Geordi returned to the table, and let the coffee fog up his visor before taking a sip of it.  “ _That_ sounds like me.  Not so much the new meaning; gazing after beautiful people, going _right up to them_ and asking them on a date?”

Data restarted the timer and made his next move.

“I have observed a steady improvement in your confidence since meeting you,” he said.  

“I mean, I _guess_ ,” Geordi conceded, “but that’s not what I was thinking.  I was thinking that I can’t even _see_ beauty, I can’t judge appearance.  Everyone looks virtually the same to me, no matter how close they lean in or how slow they move.  I realized that when I met you, when I saw you glowing from across the bridge.  I realized that I don’t perceive beauty like everyone else does.  The best I can perceive is personality.”

“There are many cultures which do not emphasize physical attraction in relationships.  Perhaps you would find a study of these reassuring.”

Geordi could feel himself blushing, but knew that if he did not address it, Data would not notice.

“I’m not unhappy,” he said, “I’m just trying to say that I’d prefer friendship.  Did Deanna say anything about _that_?”

“Yes,” Data said, as he scanned the contents of the transcript, “the counselor employed derivatives of the word ‘romantic’ eight times during our meeting, and derivatives of ‘friendship’ ten times.  I meant to ask about the difference she perceives in them, as my research has, so far, been inconclusive.”

“Data,” Geordi nudged one of the android’s pawns until he reached to collect it.  “It just sounds like she was surprised because she never considered you _wanting_ to get married, not because she thinks you _shouldn’t_.”

“I would consider marriage to a friend agreeable,” Data said, “and mutually beneficial.  Do you share that opinion?”

Geordi tried to agree without sounding like he had invested too much time in reaching a decision, but he then feared he had swung too far the opposite way, sounding like he did not care at all.  But either effect, he reminded himself, would be lost on Data.  

Data considered the board for some time before replying.

“I cannot identify the strategy you are using,” he offered.

“Oh,” Geordi remarked, pleased with himself but embarrassed to address it, “I was trying to play like you would.  Textbook stuff, the most effective response to each of your advances.”

“To each of my advances,” Data repeated, only slightly inverting his tone.  “Curious.  I was attempting to model my responses on a composite of _your_ strategies.”

Geordi smiled, now, and reviewed his own internal transcript of their evening, however emotionally compromised it was.  However Romantic.

“Were you thinking about _us_ getting married, Data?”

He resigned another of his pawns and looked thoughtful, rather than overwhelmed.

“Most of my attention _was_ diverted to that possibility,” he admitted. “Is it a fair assumption, if I continue projecting your behaviors, that you will say ‘yes’ at this time, or am I required to kneel?”

***

_“You are my best friend, and I promise to support you and care for you.”_

Now, when they walked together through the corridors, Data would extend one folded arm for Geordi to wrap both of his hands around.  They continued spending their free time together, in each other’s cabins, until Commander Riker intervened and issued enough room reassignments to get them in adjoining ones.  Their discussions and discoveries remained the most important component of their relationship, enhanced now by affectionate input from their shipmates.  It was, after all, Riker who asked if they’d made plans for their anniversary, the captain who asked _again_ if they selected a date for the ceremony - their first two choices had been interrupted by missions - and Counselor Troi who suggested they select gifts for each other.

Data’s research emphasized the actual engagement as a highlight of anniversary gifts.  He replayed the evening carefully, and believed he would feel proud of his final decision.

“It is customary for us to attend a meal together,” he explained, while Geordi guided him by the hand to Ten-Forward, “but I have taken measures to ensure this particular dinner is memorable.”

“I thought you remembered everything,” Geordi teased, until the doors to the bar slid open.  It was empty, even of Guinan.  One table was outfitted for the evening, with a silky tablecloth, two covered plates, and a crescent shape shrouded by cords.  Geordi could not discern its purpose from the distance, but Data was happy to explain.

“It is my intention to share with you _my_ interpretation of beauty, in order to help you discover your own.”

Geordi looked at him, enamored but disbelieving.  Data waited for Geordi to take his seat before indicating the crescent, which Geordi could now guess was a visor.

“I have designed this model to interface with one of my own visual processors,” Data said, taking up a thin cord and slotting it into the panel at the side of his neck. “Through a series of projectors and mirrors, I will discern sights from my perspective and from yours, simultaneously.  It requires us to remain in close proximity, but replacing your visor temporarily with this one will allow you to see as I do.  Which, I understand, is approximately human.”

Geordi held up one hand, to stop Data from elaborating on how much more precise his interpretation of colors was, how he could discern the exact shade of stars as the ship warped past them, how he could see the shadows cast at every angle by a single eyelash.  

“Data, that’s--” he could not think of how to describe the opportunity sitting on the table in front of him.

“I had hoped you would not find it overwhelming.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” he said.  Regardless, he picked it up.

“I have made many activities readily available to us,” Data continued.  “For example, I have cleared the rear wing of this room and programmed music for dancing.  We may also visit a holodeck simulation of the Louvre, or complete our own paintings there with real materials.  Of course, we can also have dinner here, or return to our cabin--”

Geordi found himself wanting to agree to all of it, to everything Data arranged for them, to every astounding memory Data wanted to create.  He slid off his visor, consoled by the residual purple glow of Data until clicking the new one into place.  The glow was shoved aside by colors he recognized as white, black, and gold, all refusing to flicker.  

“That’s how you’d see yourself?”  Geordi said, quiet and fascinated.

“This is how I am seen by the majority of lifeforms on the _Enterprise_ , as well as how my creator intended me to appear.”

Geordi made a satisfied noise, a soft and breathy giggle.

They went dancing, first, with Data content to lead Geordi in small circles beneath the lights.  Geordi knew he was prone to compensating for his sense of sight in the past, but felt more interested in doing so now.  He reached out often to feel things and understand the sight of their textures.  When he spoke, he watched the subtle changes in Data’s face to indicate he was listening.  He heard the beat of the music, felt it echoed by his heart, and looked down to see if its movement was visible through his uniform, as it sometimes was with his enhanced vision, if he shifted at just the right angle.

After he lost count of songs, they visited the holodeck.  Geordi studied sculptures from a distance, then stepped closer and stopped himself from touching them, even though they were simulated.  Instead, he would pat Data’s face or stroke his hair at intervals, saying they looked more or less the same.

They painted with their fingers, with Geordi delighted by every new smudge on his skin.  Data stopped being so precise in his movements, and let Geordi trace them.  On the blurry background he created, Geordi took a brush, dipped it in white, and outlined Data as he saw him now.  Data remarked affirmatively at the accuracy, and accepted the finished canvas as a gift, which Geordi joked about wrapping in paper once it was dry.

In their cabin, they inspected fabrics and flowers.  Not once did Geordi ask about seeing himself in a mirror, though he knew one was present in the cabin.  Data considered this a staple of one of Geordi’s best qualities, his selflessness.  He smiled after Data pointed this out.

“Maybe next time,” he said. “I _might_ be a bit overwhelmed for that now.  Kinda tired, too.”

“Yes,” Data agreed, “I found running both visual reception programs to occupy more of my systems than I had anticipated.  May I?”

After Geordi nodded, Data reached forward to remove the temporary visor, and then unplugged the cord from himself.  One hand remained over Geordi’s face, index finger just brushing the lateral stabilizer.  Data felt the muscles in Geordi’s face relax, as he took hold of Data’s arm and used it to lower himself to the mattress.

“I like to think I was right, anyway,” Geordi said, after Data removed his hand, which Geordi thought was pleasantly warm.

“To what are you referring?”

“I thought I couldn’t see beauty, but I could always see _you_.”

“My appearance is not typical of humans,” Data explained, somewhat apologetically. “It is possible that you still cannot speculate on human beauty, or the perception thereof.”

“No, I think beauty is _you_ , no matter how I’m perceiving it.”

Data said ‘hmm’ as he considered this, and stored it away in a folder he kept solely for compliments.  

“Thank you, Geordi.  In regards to you, I must agree.  I prefer your company to that of anyone aboard, and perceive your personality as endlessly appealing.”

“That’s lucky,” Geordi laughed, “’cause I didn’t have an ending in mind.”

Data had several possible endings ‘in mind’, but knew better than to address them. 

***

_“...I look forward to continuing our companionship for as long as we both exist, here and together…”_

Data took precautions to limit his access to internal knowledge of death and deactivation.  Regardless, he remembered several thousand possibilities that could terminate his and Geordi’s relationship.  Even after a convenient trip backward through time eliminated one possible scenario, Data did not feel reassured.  It remained more likely for him to outlive Geordi than the other way around.

That was why he designed this program, he told himself, as he stood in the holodeck to initiate it.

An aged version of Geordi appeared in front of him, arms crossed, waiting to be addressed.

But Data never spoke to him; he did not want to use this program until it was needed.  When he stopped by, he made subtle modifications to Geordi’s response routines to make them more natural, more comfortable.  He guessed this could be called ‘sentiment.’

Besides, he knew that regulation did not allow the programming of anyone who existed on the ship.  So, he projected a hypothetical, older figure and refused to interact with it.

Instead, he looked forward to adapting the program over time, matching it to new holodeck technology as it emerged, and finally initiating it once he and Geordi were somehow separated.

He always found himself _wanting_ to speak to the figure, for some reasons he could rationalize and for others unknown.  To test the accuracy of the coded voice instructions, to assure this version of Geordi that he was not alone.  All unnecessary.

Geordi, if prompted, would argue that his own holodeck simulation was entirely necessary.  Years ago, when the captain charged him with performing all of Data’s annual physicals and routine maintenance checkups, he rushed to write himself a simulation so he would not feel underprepared and inclined to refuse.  Not so shortly after a promotion, and not to a captain he cared so much to impress.  And he hated the idea of doing something harmful to Data, especially if it was by accident.  

Geordi’s program showed an inactive and unfinished Data, accompanied by a younger Dr. Soong, passionate and eager to make a name for himself.  He was happy to field Geordi’s questions, often insisting the lieutenant take notes and try to keep up as he indicated hundreds of different panels and demonstrated Data’s functionality.  

“You will find the reflexes somewhat jarring, as long as he’s inactive,” Soong explained, preparing a plasma torch and reaching to open Data’s mouth. “But these may be observed by inflicting sudden heat on R-32, the molar.  Much like using a hammer to test the patellar reflex of you or myself.”

Geordi listened intently, and found himself learning perhaps more than he needed about Data’s range of reactions.  He learned that some sensations _were_ unpleasant, but that Data lacked the programming to categorize them in this way; they merely occurred.  Geordi asked about the reverse of this, if there were any movements or interactions Data might learn to find enjoyable.

“Hardly,” Soong said. “He’ll rationalize ‘comfort’ as ‘repetition’ and that’s about as good as it gets.”

“But he could get used to things, and learn to like them?”

“Learn to _expect_ them, I’d say.”  He turned away from Data’s head, and spoke through his hand even though the android was incapable of hearing him, “A colonist did try to kiss him once, though, if that’s what you’re after.  That’s the closest he’s ever gotten to complaining.  Like I would waste all my time and expertise building androids for _that_."

“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Geordi said, now suddenly considering it more strongly.  “It made him uncomfortable?”

“Sure, his lips are the only thing stopping anyone from accessing the rest of his reflexes.  That puts a lot of pressure on someone with an artificial sense of self-control,” he nodded. “I think you’ll find him much more receptive to touch; his fingertips are more sensitive and complex than any sensor on the market.”

“Of course,” Geordi said, and he left the holodeck.

***

 _“...I seek to learn new things from you each day, to embrace the unique circumstances which have brought us together...”_  

Geordi wished there was a way he could share feelings, the way he experienced them, with Data.  But there was no discernable port for him to connect Data to, no way to translate enjoyment into code.  

Gradually, he turned Soong’s statement into advice, and employed it often.  He had always been physical in his reactions - something he attributed to growing up without sight - but demonstrated this more with Data.

Data learned to _expect_ Geordi to take his hand in the hallway, to pat his arm when he made a helpful suggestion, to trace a route around his shoulders when they were alone in their room.

After their anniversary, and the exchange of sight, they had to meet for Data’s scheduled examination.  Geordi asked how he was feeling, and Data learned to say ‘fine’ if nothing was unusual.  Maybe that was the most Geordi could share with him. 

He took Data’s hands, one at a time, and turned them over for inspection with a scanner.  Data kept one hand extended, waiting for Geordi to take it at several points throughout their interaction.

“I am sorry,” Data said, after noticing Geordi staring inquisitively. “Perhaps I am malfunctioning after all.”

“I think that’s within acceptable parameters,” quipped Geordi. 

Data made a note of this new speech pattern, to modify his holodeck program at a later time.  Then he weighed the possible outcome if he told Geordi now, later, or never.  He chose the former, preceded by an apology about the infringement of privacy.

“You don’t talk to him?” Geordi confirmed.  He was still holding Data’s hand.

“I have not initiated the program, although I would… _like_ to.”

“It’s alright,” Geordi promised him, “lots of people use holoprograms to, uh, to see friends after they’ve died.  It just means you’d miss me, and I can hardly get offended by _that_.”

He was still not convinced Data was confident in his decision to share this; Data had placed his other hand atop Geordi’s, not allowing him to move.  Sometimes he was unaware of the feelings of others, but he was often hyper-aware of Geordi’s.  The patterns were obvious to him after years of study.

Geordi patted his hand, and sighed.

“I don’t mind, really!  I mean, I’ve got a program of you, too.”

He explained the original purpose, and how it had become a way for him to learn about Data without feeling enough embarrassment for both of them at some of his questions. 

“So you can _say_ I’ve gotten more confident,” he concluded, “but really, I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“I am also inactive in this simulation?” Data led.

“Well, sure.  It’s so I could get to know you, not replace you.”

“That was not my assumption,” the android assured him. “Rather, I was considering integrating these programs.  Making them compatible.”

Data released Geordi’s hand, and allowed him to proceed with the inspection.  He flipped open the panel at the back of Data’s head and began checking circuits.

“What’ll you do, though, if you do outlive me?”

“Ah,” said Data, pleased with the answer he had prepared, “the same you will do in getting to know me; we will ‘take advantage’ of our time together.”

***

After the rest of the senior officers and several other personal friends had indulged in toasting the new couple, Geordi and Data’s hands met on the tabletop.  Data had come to expect this, when they were together and otherwise unoccupied by chess pieces or computer controls.

“Are you _sure_ you can’t get nervous?” Geordi’s voice was soft, “Your hands are still cold.  More than usual, I mean.”

Data looked at his hands, knowing the gesture made no difference, other than demonstrating his concern.

“I am capable of being unprepared, not nervous,” he said.  “And I feel adequately prepared for all likely scenarios this evening.  What you are feeling is the result of my complete focus on you; listening to your words, recording your reactions, compensating for your weight to keep you balanced.  Any increase in my external temperature is the result of running many programs and functions simultaneously.  When I am only running one - your behavior subroutine, in this instance - I am able to operate at a lower temperature.  It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable; I will reinstate other appropriate functions.”

“No,” Geordi said, a little louder, “you don’t have to do that.  I was just wondering why.”

Data moved his gaze upward, to match Geordi’s.

“Was my answer sufficient?”

“Plenty.”

“Are _you_ nervous?”

Geordi grinned at him, and said, “not anymore.”

***

_“...Finally, using everything you have taught me that defines love, I promise to love you.”_

Guinan applauded politely, and nodded to Data to step from the rehearsal stage.  He joined her at the nearest table.

“Are you going to add in what he’s taught you about love?” she asked.

“I did not find it beneficial,” Data replied, “as he is already aware.”

“Funny, he said almost the same thing.  But go on, I think _I’d_ find it beneficial.”

“It is comfort, support, and closeness.  I believe what you would define as ‘friendship’ would overlap almost entirely with the definition we have created for ‘love.’  The collaborative creation of this definition, in fact, is an important part of our intimacy.”

Guinan accepted this with a slow nod and a gentle, “I see.”

“It is a definition that will no doubt grow and change over the course of our time together, without an established endpoint.”


End file.
